


Closer

by intheheart



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 20:09:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6254188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intheheart/pseuds/intheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merrill has a surprise planned for Hawke. When Marian gets home early and catches her in the bedroom arranging flowers, plans change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lizzlybonk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzlybonk/gifts).



> There's not a lot of dialogue, but this is between a warrior Hawke and Merrill who is already moved into the Hawke Estate. I went with a simple scenario and very loose structure.

_ Oh no, no, no, I'm not finished yet....ohh _ . The words rush to her head as she jumps, startled by footsteps. Merrill knows these assured steps, the strong, graceful gait, another beautiful thing about Hawke. Merrill still cradles a dozen flowers, the ones she hadn't yet had time to place, but there's no time now to arrange them. She thinks about it for a moment, then tosses two more flowers from the pile in her arm onto the center of the majestic bed. Standing half-hidden behind the curtains on the bed, hanging where she had untied and loosed them, she closes her eyes, draws a breath, and waits.

"Merrill?" Her name dances across that inquisitive tongue, sending a spark of delight down the length of her. More familiar steps, heading in this direction. She keeps her eyes closed as warmth spreads from her cheeks throughout. One step, then one more. Marian Hawke pulls the curtain back with one hand, papers in the other, as Merrill turns to face her, to look up into those blue eyes and lose herself in the home she has found, in which she could never truly be lost. 

"You're back....early," said Merrill, her eyes now downward as she shifts from one foot to another.

Hawke glances over the bundle in Merrill’s arm, then toward the bed. The fussy bedspread is folded at the top, while circles of yellow, purple, and white flowers intricately decorate the coverlet. These must be the ones the neighbors had sent a very stern letter about earlier that morning. She laughs as the serious screed from the parchment returned to her thoughts. Merrill’s eyes beckon, in that wild, charming way that hides through gauzy layers of hesitation. 

"I hadn't seen anything about 'scandalizing the neighbors' on today's agenda, Hawke says, flipping the pages in her hand in a mock search.

"Ma vhenan, you should've looked  _ closer,"  _ she says, ending on a light laugh that sends a wave of ease through Merrill, something that still surprises her at times. _ " _ You should definitely look  _ closer _ ." Hawke needs no second call to oblige, and lets the pages fall to the floor.

She takes Merrill's face in her own hands, brushing her lips over her lover's. Her warm, soft lips are an answer to the thirst she had only hints of a moment before, but in the space of seconds, she has grown parched. Merrill sets the flowers aside and leans back on her hands. Hawke's lips begin to wander across her face, slowly kissing under her eyes, her cheeks, her forehead, and down her nose, lingering and exploring, before returning to Merrill's eager mouth.

“Closer still, I think,” she purrs to Hawke, as she slides further back on the bed. 

“Close enough?” Asks Hawke as she draws in, taking the end of the belt separating her mouth from Merrill’s skin, from the heat undoubtedly below, and begins undoing it. 

Merrill's legs part. Wrapping them carefully around Hawke's hips, she flashes a smile, then pulls her down on top. 

“Now, you’re close en---” but she doesn’t finish. Two sets of lips melt into a greedy, distracting dance. Merrill’s hands slide under Hawke’s blouse, the fire inside only growing, and no chance of stopping now. Finding the contrasting softness of her breasts and the hardness of her nipples, only stirs Merrill further. She tugs upward on the blouse, seeking to free it. There’s no way a woman this beautiful should be covered, hidden from view, from her touch, from her deep ache to be against her skin, to be inside her, to take a winding journey from her mouth downward, trace the contours of of her muscled arms, wend between her full breasts, her tongue languidly appreciating each of them before detouring to whisper kisses about her hips, to seek her love’s hot center, and swirl circles until Hawke filled Merrill’s ears with the sweetest moans she could ever hear.

The blouse is set aside, as forgotten as the papers on the floor. Her pants soon go with it. There's something about Hawke this way. Stripped of sword, of shield, armor, (and clothes). There is grace in the curve of her thighs, Merrill notes. Grace she never tires of exploring. She sits, completing the unfinished job loosening her belt,and pulling her tunic away. She sits up as Hawke takes her legs in hand, softly kissing her feet, sliding the pants off; the muscles in her upper arms momentarily defined with the pull as Merrill feels her breath quicken. 

“So let’s scandalize the neighbors,” Hawke says softly in Merrill’s ear, licking it in the way she knows sends the most deliciously disarming electric buzz through her. No, this is  _ not fair _ . Merrill’s heart is full, free,and pounding with the desire to sit astride one of those graceful, strong thighs. She does just that, a soft grind, then faster, harder as Hawke’s hands grasp her hips, steadying her, giving her leverage, making her throb as she presses firmly against that thigh as Hawke tightens and lets it go. Merrill’s breath escapes in a heavy, stuttering sigh. 

The desire in that moment almost dizzying as she lays out before Hawke, with her soft face, soft, beautiful breasts, and light traces of sweat mixing with the flowers still dotting the bed. Now instead of one of Hawke’s curved, graceful thighs, her mouth journeys to Merrill’s open legs, the hot center of her, a treasure, one she has already claimed, but always there for her again. Hawke’s tongue traces around her clit with a rhythmic hunger they sense in one another. Bare, present, of soul, body, and desire. Merrill moans as she continues, Hawke darting her tongue inside, tasting, curing a thirst, tracing patterns, circles, writing the names of everyone she has ever met, as far as Merrill knows. As for what Merrill knows, in this moment, the flowers, a haze, nails dug into Hawke’s shoulders, drawing upwards as Hawke pulls away momentarily. No, no, not allowed. She arches her back, returns Hawke’s mouth where it belongs. Belongs to her. Her legs may still be there, she can’t tell, her heart threatens to fly away, as everything tightens, circles, something,  _ oh, Vhenan _ ….

Their lips meet again, breath not yet beginning to slow. The flowers of joy, reverence, and admiration all around them. 

 


End file.
